He made but one spring from his shrine to the roof
Of the palace that now stands so sadly in ruins,
And thus he addressed them, all standing aloof:
“‘Oh, subject rebellious! Oh, Venta depraved!
When once we are buried you think we are dead;
But behold me immortal—by vice you’re enslaved,
You have sinned, and must suffer,’ then further he said—
“‘These races, and revels, and dissolute measures,
With which you’re debasing a neighbouring plain;
Let them stand—you shall meet with a curse in your pleasures.